


Those Dead Eyes

by draiochtaa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blind Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Angst, Morning Sex, Multi, Polyamory, Riding, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Witch Curses, Witchcraft, the term "angst" is used very loosely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22428883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draiochtaa/pseuds/draiochtaa
Summary: Sam and Dean are hunting a witch when Dean is hit with a blindness curse. Apparently, this does absolutely nothing to hinder his libido. Sam's worried out of his mind, Dean's hiding his feelings, and Kevin's stuck in the middle.Note: Sam, Dean, and Kevin are in a polyamorous relationship, but there's no threesome (sorry). If you'd like to know in advance, there are two separate sex scenes; one is Dean/Kevin and the other is Sam/Dean.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Kevin Tran/Dean Winchester, Kevin Tran/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Kevin Tran/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Those Dead Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is waaay longer than I originally intended, but I guess that's a good thing. I've worked on it for over a year now, and it just kept developing a mind of its own and surprising me. Honestly, it's a miracle that it ever actually got finished. 
> 
> Sam/Dean/Kevin is my absolute favorite ship, but it's extremely rare so I'm trying to help out those in need (such as myself) by writing more of it. You're welcome.

"You _bitch_! What did you do?!"

Dean's voice sounds distant, and Sam doesn't hear the answer due to the ringing in his ears. 

They'd been hunting a rogue witch, but she had turned out to be stronger than they anticipated. Sam had been flung across the room at some point, and evidently blacked out for a moment. As he regained consciousness, he sat up and looked around to see Dean sitting on his knees on the floor across the room, his back to Sam. He seemed fine, at least physically, but he made no attempt to get up or even move at all. There was no sign of the witch. 

"Sam?" Dean called after a moment of silence. Sam pulled himself to his feet and made his way over. 

"I'm okay. What happened?" Dean didn't turn around, and when Sam placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, he flinched and grabbed it as if it had scared him. He seemed to recognize that it was Sam, though, because he relaxed fairly quickly. 

"Sammy, I can't see anything," he mumbled, sounding almost pitiful. Sam instinctively dropped to his knees next to Dean to check him for injuries, but there was no need. By the time he'd gotten a hand under Dean's chin, he had already seen the cloudy white film covering both of his eyes. He was completely blind. 

"That _bitch_ ," Sam muttered angrily under his breath, waving a hand in front of Dean's face and searching in vain for any kind of reaction. 

"She get away?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, then caught himself. 

"Yeah. She's probably long gone by now." 

Dean nodded at that, seeming almost content. 

"Just get me home," he said flatly. "I'm tired." 

"We'll fix this," was Sam's response as he stood and helped Dean to his feet, leading him out the door and to the car. Dean reluctantly gave up the keys and was silent for the entire drive back to the bunker. 

Thankfully, it was a fairly short drive.

*

"Kevin!" Sam called loudly as he helped Dean get down the main staircase, and the prophet darted into the room mere seconds later. 

"What happened?" he questioned, running up the stairs to meet them and watching Dean's blank stare with concern as he clutched his free arm and helped to guide him. 

"Witch," was Sam's reply. "Some kind of curse. Could you start looking for a cure?" 

"There's like a hundred different curses that can cause blindness," Kevin countered. 

"Well, then start reading," Sam snapped. 

"Sam," Dean spoke up, "relax. I'm gonna be fine." 

"It's late," Kevin said, always quick to mediate when he sensed an argument brewing. "How 'bout you two go get some rest, and I'll hit the library." Sam gave him a grateful look. Kevin couldn't really blame him for being worried, and he didn't mind helping out. He could handle one night without sleep. In fact, he'd just finished a strong cup of coffee and had been planning to stay up anyway. 

"Are you sure?" Dean interjected, sounding concerned and maybe a little disappointed. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Kevin stood up on his toes and kissed Dean's cheek. 

"I'll live," he said, and Dean smiled. 

He kissed each of them on the lips before they parted ways, and Sam mumbled a small "love you" that made him grin. Dean wasn't much for the romantic stuff, but Sam was exactly the opposite. Kevin couldn't honestly say that he preferred one over the other. He returned the sentiment and retreated to the library with that stupid smile still on his face. 

* 

They decide on Sam's room, simply because it's closer. Sam ushers Dean over to sit down on the bed, and they both undress in silence. Sam changes into an old shirt and a pair of sweatpants, but Dean only removes his outer layers before flopping back against the covers with his jeans still on. Once they're comfortable, Dean's back pressed against Sam's front, Dean speaks up.

"I'm gonna be fine, Sam. You can relax." 

"I'll relax when you can see again," Sam countered. 

Dean decided it was time to take matters into his own hands, and for the next several minutes, he would occasionally press back against Sam under the pretense of getting comfortable. Sex was a common practice after a hunt, usually to calm their nerves or to get rid of all the excess adrenaline running through their veins so they could get some proper rest. Dean figured this was no different, but Sam was decidedly not in the mood, and shifted his hips away as soon as he realized Dean's intentions. 

"Quit," he snapped.

"You need to chill out," Dean argued gently. "Just let me help."

"Go to sleep, Dean." 

Sam's tone was harsh enough that Dean knew from experience not to argue because it wouldn't get him anywhere. Sam was so incredibly stubborn sometimes. 

With a huff, Dean wiggled out of Sam's arms and buried his face in his pillow. 

"Oh, come on, don't be like that," Sam muttered, though his voice did soften. Dean didn't respond, but he also didn't pull away when Sam started rubbing his back with one hand. He wasn't mad (not really), but Sam was on edge and it was making him nervous. He decided his best bet was to just pretend he was asleep, and after many long moments Sam seemed to buy it. 

He could feel Sam moving closer to press against his back again. At least he seemed calmer now. They laid in silence and after a while, Dean actually did fall asleep, but not before he felt a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

*

Dean was mostly sure that he was awake, but without his vision it took him a moment to remember where he was. He also wasn't positive whether his eyes were open or not, not that it mattered anyway. He reached behind him, expecting to find Sam, but there was nothing there. Then he noticed that there was a much smaller figure curled up against his chest, and he smiled. 

"Morning," Kevin muttered, sounding fully awake. He shimmied up a bit to bury his face in Dean's neck, and Dean ran a hand through his hair. 

"Is Sam in here?" He asked. 

"No, he's in the library. Came and replaced me a couple hours ago." 

"Have you slept?" 

"Not tired." 

"So you've just been laying here waiting for me to wake up?" 

"Yeah, pretty much." It felt like Kevin might have shrugged. "Sam wanted me to keep an eye on you." 

"Of course he did," Dean muttered. Sam was obviously worried, and Sam got overprotective when he was worried, so this wasn't much of a surprise. It was quiet for a minute, and Kevin pulled away a little to nudge Dean onto his back and climb on top of him. 

"Are you hungry yet?" he asked. "I could go get you something to eat." 

Dean shook his head. "Don't leave. You're warm." He hugged Kevin closer as if to prove his point. He could feel the smile on Kevin's lips when the younger man leaned down to kiss him. 

The sudden contact caught him off guard at first, but as soon as he realized what it was he kissed back with ease. It was slow and lazy, and Dean brought a hand up to rest on the side of Kevin's face. 

Eventually, though, with Kevin straddling him and the unresolved tension from the night before still lurking in the back of his mind, he knew it would only be a matter of time before things escalated. He tried to subtly deepen their kiss but of course, Kevin immediately noticed. 

"What're you up to?" he teased lightly, barely separating their mouths long enough to get the words out. 

"You know exactly what I'm up to," Dean replied with a smirk. 

"Last night wasn't enough for you?" Even Kevin was aware of the brothers' unspoken tradition.

"We didn't... Sam got all bitchy. Too busy worrying over nothing." 

"So I'm just your Plan B, then?" Kevin's tone was light and playful, and Dean didn't need to see to know he was smiling. 

"No," Dean protested. "You'd be more like... my knight in shining armor, here to save the day." 

Kevin chuckled. "You're such a dork," he said fondly. 

He must have sat up, because suddenly Dean couldn't feel the breath in his face anymore. He wasn't sure what to do with that information, so he laid there and waited for something else to happen. When he felt Kevin's hands pushing his shirt up, he sat up enough to remove it before laying back down. He wondered whether Kevin was shirtless, too, and he found himself reaching up to find out. It turned out he wasn't, so Dean tried to find the bottom of the shirt in an effort to change that. Kevin flinched away from the touch, and Dean was worried until he heard a huff of laughter. 

"Don't be so shy," Kevin giggled, grabbing Dean's hands and pressing them down harder. "You know I'm ticklish." Dean was tempted to tickle him on purpose now, but the last time he did that he got kicked in the face (on accident, but still), so he decided against it.

Trailing his hands down, he found that Kevin's shirt was bunched up at the bottom, like it was too big on him. 

"Is this mine?" he asked, tugging lightly on the material to indicate what he was talking about. 

"Sam's," Kevin mumbled, sounding shy. 

That made sense, considering they were in Sam’s room. 

Suddenly, Dean wanted him to leave it on. He abandoned his original mission and moved his hands back up to grip Kevin's waist instead. 

Kevin leaned down to kiss him again. It was still slow and lazy even as Kevin lifted his hips to unbutton Dean's pants. Dean tried to speed it up a bit, but Kevin only pulled his mouth away in response. 

"Relax," he muttered. "Just let me take care of you." Dean hummed at that, willing himself to obey. He lifted his hips so Kevin could slide his jeans off, and his boxers went with them. 

When Kevin sat back down, lower on his thighs this time, Dean could feel bare skin against his, and realized that the younger man hadn't been wearing pants this whole time. He could picture it in his head; Kevin wearing a shirt that was obviously huge on him, with only boxers underneath. He was suddenly very upset that he'd been cheated out of seeing that for himself, especially since he’d seen it before and knew exactly how cute it was. 

"Fuck, I wish I could see you," he muttered. 

"You don't need to," was Kevin's gentle response. He grabbed both of Dean's hands in his and led them up to cup his face. Taking the hint, Dean moved his thumbs to find Kevin's mouth, mapping out his features through touch. Something shifted, and Dean felt around to discover his lips had moved slightly. 

"What're you smilin' at?" 

"Nothing," Kevin practically whispered, nuzzling against Dean's hand. His smile got bigger. 

Suddenly, there was a pair of hands running down his torso, stopping just before his hips. 

"You just look so pretty," he mumbled. 

Dean scoffed. 

"I mean it," he persisted. 

Dean didn't understand that word. _Pretty_. Both Sam and Kevin always insist that it suits him best (they use it almost exclusively), but he just can't see it. He's more of a _rugged_ or _handsome_ kind of guy. But both of his boyfriends just got so damn _sappy_ sometimes, and he had no choice but to live with it. 

Honestly, Sam and Kevin are so perfect for each other, and sometimes Dean wonders how he even got involved in the first place. 

"Should we lock the door?" Kevin spoke up, interrupting Dean's thoughts. He must have interpreted the silence as a subtle request to change the subject. 

"It's just Sam out there," Dean shrugged. "He wouldn't care."

"Maybe on a regular day, but he’s stressed out right now and we _are_ in _his_ bed," Kevin reasoned. "He might go off or something." 

"Well, if it'd make you feel better, then go ahead," Dean decided. 

"Okay," he heard Kevin mutter, and then he was alone. 

Well, not _alone_ alone, but Kevin's weight was gone from his lap and he was left floating his new unremitting darkness by himself. He found he didn't like not having direct physical contact with someone, now that mere silence could feel the same as total isolation. He hadn't expected to feel so overwhelmingly helpless all of a sudden, and he decided he loved Sam for having the foresight to make sure he wouldn't wake up alone.

Maybe he'd even apologize to Sam later. 

Seconds ticked by like hours, and Dean's anxiety grew. 

"Come back," he called, trying to sound playfully annoyed but not sure if he pulled it off. 

"I'm right here," came Kevin's voice, somewhere to his left. "Just grabbing some lube while I'm up." 

Dean sat up, trying to rearrange the pillows behind him just so he'd have something to do. By the time he found a comfortable position against the headboard, the bed dipped beside him to announce Kevin's return. Without thinking, he reached out, and he'll never admit to the relief he felt when a warm hand grasped his. 

"I'm right here," Kevin repeated. "You're okay." He settled himself in Dean's lap again, and the older man couldn't suppress a smile. 

Kevin pulled his hand away, presumably because he needed it for something, but Dean couldn't see what, so he reached forward to try and find out. He hated this feeling—not knowing what was happening right in front of him. 

He gathered that Kevin was pulling his shirt off, and Dean grabbed it before he could. 

"You can leave that on," he suggested. "It feels cozy." 

_You look cute, probably,_ was what he'd almost said.

"I don't think Sam would appreciate it if I jizzed all over his favorite shirt," Kevin chuckled. 

Yeah, he was probably right. Reluctantly, Dean let go and allowed Kevin to finish pulling it over his head. He took his boxers off, too, and made sure to keep at least one hand on Dean at all times. Of course, he wasn't stupid, and had seen right through Dean's bravado when they'd parted. 

Damn him and his intelligence. 

Neither of them were particularly hard, not having done much yet, but Kevin didn't seem to mind taking Dean's mostly-flaccid dick into his hand almost lovingly. Dean wasn’t sure what to do, so he reached for Kevin's face again. Kevin helped him with his free hand. 

The thing is, this wasn't about having sex for the sake of having sex; Dean just knew that it was the simplest way to clear his mind. Sometimes he drank instead, but that only postponed the restlessness pulsing through his veins. Admittedly, it was a little weird, but sex calmed him more effectively than anything else. Sam—bless him—understood that. And apparently, Kevin did too. 

Sam must have told him. Sam tells Kevin everything. Like that one time when Dean got drunk and told Sam that he loved his hair, and Kevin mysteriously decided he was going to start growing his own hair back out two days later. Not that that was a bad thing; Dean likes Kevin's hair, especially now that it’s longer and fluffier. He slides one of his hands into it and smiles. 

"Stop it," Kevin muttered. 

"What?" Dean asked innocently. 

"You're distracted," Kevin explained amusedly. "Quit thinking so much."

As it turns out, that's much easier said than done; if you can't look at what's happening, it makes it surprisingly difficult to actually focus on it. Kevin seems to realize this, and takes matters into his own hands. Literally. 

He slides his thumb over the tip of Dean's cock, his other hand grazing over his balls. It's nothing extreme, and he doesn't even move his hands that much—Dean's not even that hard, after all—but it's the gentleness in his touch that makes Dean shiver. He's interested now, and when Kevin speaks it finally gives him something to focus on. 

"Just relax," he purrs, his voice low and soothing. That awakens something in Dean's lizard brain, and he feels his dick start to take interest. 

God bless Kevin Tran. 

He continues this gentle touch for what might have been a few minutes, barely any movement until Dean starts to harden in his grip. Then his hands start getting bolder, movement steadily increasing at that same lazy pace. Before long, it developed into a proper handjob. 

As soon as he starts leaking, Kevin gets craftier. Gives him a firm base-to-tip pull that's just as teasing as it is satisfying. Plays with his foreskin a bit. Finds that spot just behind his balls that always makes him melt just a little. His hips are rocking into it now, but it's still just as slow as when they started. 

But then, Kevin stops. Dean almost whines, but he hears a faint click; probably the lube. And when Kevin raises up onto his knees, Dean has a very good idea what he's doing. 

His hands are still on Kevin's face, and he decides he wants to try something. He finds Kevin's mouth, puts a hand there so he won't lose track of it, and leans in for a kiss. He connects with his own fingers at first, obviously, but he's proud of himself when their lips finally do touch. Kevin hums in approval. 

"Look at you, learning so fast already," he praised, without disconnecting their lips. Dean smiles. 

This could've gone on for several minutes or several hours, but he wasn't complaining. Eventually, though, Kevin seemed to have decided he was ready, because there was a lubed hand slicking up Dean's dick as he shuffled forward on his knees to line himself up. He sank down slowly, and Dean groaned at the heat of it. It almost felt better now, like being blind somehow made him more sensitive to touch. 

It probably did, actually, but Dean stopped thinking about it before he could get distracted again. He forced himself to turn his brain off and just feel for now. 

Kevin may seem small and innocent, but when he gets like this, it's intense. He's confident, rolling his hips like he does it professionally; he always seems to know exactly what to do, where to touch, how to move. He doesn't even lift himself up yet, just keeps rolling his hips in torturously slow circles until Dean simply can't take it anymore.

"Come _on_ ," he whines, both hands threading into Kevin's hair. Kevin leans into the touch, and he's probably smiling, but he doesn't give in. 

"You're too bossy," he admonishes, though he sounds a little breathless himself. He wraps his arms around Dean's neck and leans in close to his face. "Calm down. Enjoy it." 

"You're such a tease," Dean protests. Kevin's ass clenches at that, flutters around him, and he sucks in a breath. That was definitely on purpose. 

"Patience," he mumbles. His hips have stopped moving. 

They both sit in silence until Dean caves. 

"What am I supposed to do?" he appeals, not sure where Kevin's planning on going with this little standoff. 

"Nothing," Kevin says, like it's obvious. 

Dean didn't even realize his eyes were open until he closed them. He tilted his head back a little to rest against the headboard, trying to relax as much as he could. 

Kevin started moving again, that slow rolling of his hips, and Dean allowed himself to get lost in it. 

It really wasn't enough. He was almost sure he'd lose his mind if this went on for much longer. He persisted, though, and after several minutes of calming breaths it began to feel better. It still wasn't particularly mind-blowing, however, and once he'd managed to fully relax, his hips began to move on their own. He'd half-expected Kevin to stop again, but instead he gave in to the movement and _finally_ lifted his hips. It was still slow, but gradually becoming faster. 

"You're good at that," Dean breathed. Kevin nuzzled his face against Dean's jaw and grinned. 

"I might not last too much longer," he muttered. He lets out a breath as he gets the angle just right, finally settling into a fast enough rhythm. 

"Me either," Dean reassures him. 

They stop talking now. They're too focused on the pleasure, and they each tighten their grip on each other. Dean feels almost blissful under Kevin's steady movements, and soon he's squirming with the intensity of the sensation. There's nothing slow about it now; there never is, once they're this close. There always comes a time when even Kevin—as level-headed as he is—can't hold back anymore. 

Kevin lets out a whine, right next to Dean's ear, and for a moment Dean wonders whether it's genuine. Kevin does that sometimes; he doesn't quite _fake_ it, but he certainly likes to exaggerate his noises (or let out some of the ones that he'd usually bite back) because he knows how much Dean loves it. Of course, Dean doesn't mind the theatrics at all. Especially when it sounds so pretty. 

Of the two of them, Dean strongly believes that _Kevin_ is the pretty one. 

They're moving almost frantically, and Kevin's pretty little noises get louder as his hips start to stutter. His fingernails are digging into the backs of Dean's shoulders, the sting only adding to the pleasure. His hair is soft and fluffy where Dean's hands are buried in it. Dean realizes how laser-focused he is on how things feel now that he can't see; how everything feels so much better _because_ he can't see. 

He _really_ wishes he could've seen Kevin's face when he came, though. 

Kevin seems to know this (because of course he does; he's Kevin), and he's extra vocal to make up for the lack of a visual. Dean can hear him whimpering a few expletives under his breath as he feels the hot streaks of cum landing across his stomach in a random pattern. He's close, too, and Kevin's voice encourages him as he thrusts up into that tight, hot channel and lets out a noise of his own. 

His orgasm is nothing short of heavenly. His dick pulses urgently and his toes curl as the bone-deep pleasure washes over him. His hands are fisted tightly in Kevin's hair, and he can't force himself to let go despite knowing that it's probably hurting him. Kevin's not quite into hair-pulling as much as Sam is. 

Fortunately, if Kevin's in any pain, he doesn't seem to mind it, because he's silently grinning into Dean's neck. Of course, that doesn't stop Dean from muttering an apology anyway, once he's finally caught his breath. Kevin tells him it's alright, and to stop worrying so much. 

Dean feels better now; more relaxed. They don't move for a minute, and when Kevin speaks, it startles Dean just a little.

"We should get cleaned up," he whispers, and Dean decides that he's probably right. 

This time, when Kevin gets up to get a rag and gather their clothes, he keeps talking the whole time so that Dean doesn't lose track of him again. He's talking just for the sake of talking, listing all the different things they could eat for breakfast, and Dean can track his voice as it moves all the way across the room and back. Dean has to admire his intellect. 

They're fully dressed again (maybe not "fully"—Kevin's wearing the same thing he had been that morning) when there's a knock on the door. 

"Are you two done in there? It's almost noon," comes Sam's teasing voice. 

"I have no _idea_ what you're referring to," Kevin calls back wittily. Dean hears Sam chuckle.

"Well, when you're ready, I made coffee," he prodded. 

That gets Dean's attention, and soon they're both on their feet as Kevin gently leads him to the door. Dean had almost forgotten just how scary walking is now, and he clung to Kevin very closely. 

They make it to the door, and Sam's still on the other side when they open it; Dean can tell because there's suddenly a third hand on his arm. 

"How're you doing?" Sam says quietly, and Dean can tell it's directed at him. 

"M'fine," he mutters, not wanting to talk about how helpless he feels. Sam accepts that answer, and the three of them make it to the kitchen with Dean in the middle. 

* 

Kevin sits next to Dean at the table, head on Dean's shoulder, and Sam places a cup of coffee in front of each of them. 

_Clunk. Clunk._

Sam sits across from them with his own cup. 

_Clunk._

It's quiet for a moment, aside from the sound of someone taking a sip of coffee—probably Sam; it sounds farther away, and he hasn't felt Kevin move yet. 

"Have you found anything yet?" Kevin asks. 

"There's a bunch of different things it could be," Sam replies. "I added some more notes." Kevin nods against Dean's shoulder. Dean goes to reach for his coffee; Kevin has to help him a little. 

"I could take over for a while, if you wanna take a break," Kevin offers. 

"Honestly, I'd feel better if you got some sleep instead," Sam counters, not unkindly. Dean likes to call it his "mother-knows-best" voice. 

Dean takes a sip of his coffee, and he has to grin at the taste. Sam always gets it just right.

"I'm not tired," Kevin mumbles defensively. 

This is probably true. He's not currently plagued with any prophetic duties, but Kevin is still feeling the effects of reading those tablets (though it's been a couple years since then), and his insomnia has only slightly improved. 

It's quiet then, and Dean suspects that Sam has brought out the puppy dog eyes, because then Kevin sighs. 

"I guess I'll just go lay down and do absolutely nothing for a few more hours, then," he huffs. 

"Thank you," Sam praised. 

After a minute or two, once Kevin had either finished his coffee or simply decided he was done with it, he put the cup back on the table ( _clunk_ ) and stood up. 

"You _sure_ you don't need help with anything?" 

"We'll be fine," Sam insisted. 

There's a hand on Dean's shoulder—a gentle heads-up before Kevin kisses his cheek. He grins and turns his head, earning a second kiss on the mouth this time. 

Kevin kisses Sam, too; Dean hears it. He can also hear the gentle footsteps as he leaves the room. 

It's quiet for a second. 

"Dean?" Sam's voice.

"Yeah?" 

"You okay? You haven't said anything," Sam observes. Dean decides on a witty response.

"Well, aside from being totally blind, I'd say I'm doing just _peachy_." 

*

Dean ends up helping Sam with his research. A lot of the spells and curses he'd found involve other specific side effects that identify exactly which one was used, so for right now he's just going down the list. 

"Have you felt cold at all? Dizzy?"

"No."

"Are you hearing any voices?" 

"No."

"Can you see anything at all? Like lights, or shapes?"

"No, it's all black."

"Are you in any pain?"

"Does boredom count?"

Sam sighs. He's been able to rule out some of the more sinister curses, at least, so he tries another method. 

“Did you see her doing the spell?”

“Kinda. She had some kind of charm.”

"Did you hear the incantation?" 

"Yeah, but I don't remember the words." 

"Would you recognize it if you heard it?" 

"Probably." 

So he flipped through the notebook, found all of the spells that required charms and started listing those instead. 

"Incendemus oculos."

"No."

"Tenebris aeternam."

"No."

"An solas a chealú."

"No."

"Avèg."

"It was longer. Like a whole sentence."

"Okay. So, like... ní fheicfidh tú an fhírinne riamh?" 

"No, not that one."

They cycled through countless different incantations in various languages, none of which were the correct one. Sam was almost ready to just give up and take a break, but then,

"Kado vizyon an ap anpeche ou?" 

"Wait, say that one again." 

Sam does, slowly. 

"That's it."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

Success. Sam is very relieved—they'd only gone through a small percentage of the different spells that had been written down in the notebook Sam was reading from. The notes had spanned numerous pages, half of which were coated front-to-back in his tiny scrawl; the first half had been written by Kevin, whose handwriting was of equal size but considerably neater. He circled the words of the correct spell and scanned the vaguely-worded bullet points underneath them; _Voodoo. No symptoms. Not self-terminating. Not fatal._ His eyes lingered on the last bullet, which had been underlined twice: _Reversible._

Sam was so happy that he could have cried, but he knew they were only halfway there. Finding the spell had been the simple part. Now he had to research said spell, and figure out how to reverse it. And, most importantly, he had to gather all of the materials necessary to do so. Still, he felt relieved. He put the notebook down on the table and decided they deserved a break for now, especially since Dean looked particularly restless in his chair, his unseeing eyes staring blankly into the distance. Not for the first time, Sam felt a cold chill as he looked into them. 

Clouded and unblinking. Sam had seen those eyes before. Countless times.

Those were the eyes of a corpse. 

"So, what's the diagnosis?" Dean spoke up, breaking the silence. 

"Voodoo," Sam replied. He'd forgotten that Dean couldn't just read the notes like he usually did. "It's really mild, actually. It won't go away on its own, but there's a cure." 

"Which is...?"

"Don't know yet," Sam admitted quietly. Dean didn't seem nearly as concerned about that as he should have been. 

"Okay. Can we take a break, then? I can only handle so much of this." 

"Sure." They'd been sitting here for over an hour, and Sam was equally eager to stretch his legs. "What do you wanna do?" 

"Well, I'd love to go take a shower, but..." Dean trailed off, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his own face. Sam understood what he was referring to, but he didn't agree with that reasoning. 

"You can take a shower," he said simply. Dean looked almost offended by the suggestion. "Dude, if you wanna shower, I can help you." 

"Oh, great," Dean scoffed. "Because _that's_ not demeaning." 

"Okay," Sam started, knowing that Dean was stubborn and would not agree to this unless there was some sort of negotiation. "What if I shower _with_ you?" 

Dean couldn't quite look at him, but when he flashed his signature bitchface in a close-enough direction, Sam got the point. 

"We've done that before," he pointed out. "It's not like I've never seen you naked."

Dean stayed silent for an extra few seconds for good measure, then reluctantly agreed. 

And that's how they ended up in the shower room a few minutes later. Dean stood there aimlessly with a hand against the wall to orient himself as Sam gathered everything they'd need. 

The showers are very open; they don't have doors or curtains, and the stalls are separated from each other only by simple tiled walls that are roughly 4 feet high. Privacy isn't exactly an option in here, not that anyone minded anyway since it was just the three of them. Also because it was just the three of them, they each had their own personal stall, marked by their respective shower products lined up on top of one of the dividing walls. For some unspoken reason, they'd all decided on three neighboring ones instead of spreading out. 

This was particularly helpful right now, because it meant that Sam could keep a close eye on Dean. He slung a towel over each of their walls and walked (as noisily as he could) back over to his older brother to place a hand on his shoulder and lead him in that direction. 

"You can take your clothes off now," he prompted, as he began doing so himself. Dean hesitated, then slowly pulled off his shirt. 

"I don't like this," Dean admits under his breath, almost as if he didn't want Sam to hear it. Sam did hear it, of course.

"Don't like what?" he responded. Dean shrugged, hand searching blindly for his wall so he could drape his shirt over it. He found it before Sam could get over there to help him.

"This," he clarifies unhelpfully. "I feel like you're just standing there watching me get naked." Sam chuckles. 

"Don't worry. I'm naked, too, I promise." He's fully undressed now, having just pulled off his underwear, and he moves closer to Dean to show him as much. 

Dean, still in his jeans (though he's unbuttoned them now), allows Sam to guide his hands forward onto Sam's shoulders. Sam lets go, and Dean searched around a little through touch before sliding his hands down Sam's body to rest innocently on his bare hips. He grinned.

"You're so cute," he gushed. Sam was glad that Dean couldn't see him blushing furiously at that comment. 

"Shut up," he deflected, grabbing Dean's wrists but making no effort to move them. Dean chuckled and pulled away to finish taking his pants off. 

Once Dean was also naked, Sam led him into his stall and briefly familiarized him with the location of his two-in-one shampoo/conditioner in relation to his single bottle of body wash. The two bottles were also differently shaped, so Sam figured it would be easy enough for him to find them. For the first time in his life, Sam was grateful that Dean's wall of shower products was so barren. His own wall had as many as 8 different bottles on it, consisting of 5 different scents of body wash (all from the same ungendered brand) and two types of shampoo that he would alternate between depending on the condition of his hair at that time; the eighth bottle was conditioner. Dean made fun of him sometimes, but Sam brushed it off because he'd much rather smell like Ocean Breeze than Sandalwood. 

Once Dean was situated, Sam moved around the dividing wall and into his own shower, turning the water on and just standing under the spray for a long moment. He tried not to look at Dean, but his gaze wandered every few moments as if it was beyond his control. He wasn't looking for the sake of admiration, however (though he could have easily done that as well); he simply couldn't tear his eyes away from Dean’s vacant stare or the cautious, unsure way in which he moved. Sam couldn't stand to see him like this: so helpless, so broken. 

"Talk to me," Dean says, sounding frustrated, and Sam blinks. 

"About what?" 

"Anything. All this silence is driving me crazy." 

Sam hadn't considered that. He's completely lost for words, though, so he has to take a moment to think about what to say.

"I'm sorry about last night," he mumbles, figuring it was probably time to talk about it. "I was a dick."

"I know," Dean replies, and Sam can't tell which statement he's referring to. Probably both. 

"I was just worried about you," he tries to reason, and Dean seems to accept that. 

"I'm not mad." 

Sam nods, then remembers Dean can't see him. "Okay," he says instead. 

Silence. 

"So, are you hungry at all? We could go get something to eat after this." 

"That's a stupid question," Dean jokes. It makes Sam grin. 

Dean carefully reaches for his shampoo, fingers inching along the wall until they find one of the bottles. He gets a hold of it, feels it, then finds the other with his opposite hand and feels that one too. Both hands move to the shampoo bottle then, and he searches it more thoroughly for a moment before he decides it's the correct one and picks it up. Sam catches him smiling proudly to himself, if only for a split second. 

Sam grabs his own shampoo then, realizing that he probably shouldn't just stand there wasting water. 

*

He's almost finished when Dean reaches out to turn off the water to his own shower, and he watches him search for his towel. He gropes at empty wall for a second before Sam decides it's time to help him.

"On your right," he says simply. Dean finds it almost instantly after that. 

"You not done yet?" Dean jokes, fluffing his hair carelessly with the towel before wrapping it around his waist and leaning against Sam's wall—the one between them. He's still on his own side, at least. 

"Gimme a sec," Sam says dismissively, tilting his head back to rinse the last of the conditioner out of his hair. He's fully on display right now, and he feels wildly exposed despite knowing that Dean can't see him. Dean's face is turned in this direction, however, and he's just standing there. Those dead eyes feel as if they're piercing through Sam's very soul, even though they're looking somewhere above his head; even though Sam’s own eyes are currently closed. He feels himself blush. 

"Don't just stand there like that," he mumbles, not meaning to sound quite so much like a child. Sam opens his eyes to see Dean grin. 

"Don't worry, I'm not looking," he teases, holding his hands up defensively. Sam tries his best to find the humor in that comment, but for some reason he can't. Maybe it's those dead eyes. 

"That's not funny," he grumbles. Dean's still grinning as Sam turns off the water and grabs for his own towel, which Dean had been leaning on. He tugs on it, but his brother doesn't move.

"Relax, Sammy," he reassures, keeping a tight grip on the towel with one hand and finding Sam's arm with the other. Sam lets go of the towel and allows Dean to hold his hand for a second. 

"Do you have any _idea_ what it's like for me to see you like this?" 

"This could've ended _very_ differently," Dean rebukes. "I could be dead right now. But I'm not. And that's a win in my book, so suck it up, man." 

Really, he's sort of right. 

"But aren't you _worried_?" 

"Of course I'm worried. I'm terrified, actually. But I know it's not gonna last forever, and I'd rather not just sit around and cry about it." Dean tightens his grip on Sam's hand for just a moment, another grin creeping onto his face. "I can think of about 20 different things that I'd rather be doing right now."

Judging by Dean's expression, Sam has a sneaking suspicion that all 20 of those things involve them being naked. 

"I thought you wanted breakfast," Sam teases. 

"Breakfast can wait." 

* 

_Fuck it,_ Sam had decided. They'd dried off first, but abandoned their clothes in favor of venturing into the closest bedroom. It was Kevin's. 

Kevin rarely ever slept here, though. Mostly, the three of them slept in Dean's room, but they all had their separate rooms in case they ever needed them. Mainly, it was because they were spread out enough that one was always close by (and fully-stocked, which made spontaneous sex a hell of a lot easier). Also, the bunker had several endless hallways of nothing but vacant bedrooms, and they figured they might as well try to occupy as much of that space as they can. 

Kevin's not in here now, which isn't much of a surprise—he had probably gone back to Sam's room to watch Netflix or something instead of actually trying to get any sleep. And even if he did want to sleep, he wouldn't have come here. He prefers the other rooms for whatever reason. Sam's not sure, but he thinks Kevin mentioned something once about how he likes things that smell like Sam. Or something. 

Speaking of Sam, the taller man is currently on top of Dean, who had removed his towel and is enthusiastically returning his kiss as they lazily rut against each other on the bed. Dean has his hands in Sam's hair, tugging to get him where he wants him. Sam had allowed this for several long minutes, but now he pulls against the grip to mouth at Dean's neck. Dean seems to appreciate that, and tilts his head encouragingly. 

Sam tries to reach for the nightstand to get a bottle of lube, but soon discovers that he can't do so without separating from Dean for a moment. Dean pouts a little, but Sam moves very quickly and is back before he can complain. 

"You never get enough of this, do you?" Sam chuckles. Dean seems overly eager despite the fact that he just had sex this morning, and it's actually kind of impressive. 

"Have you _seen_ yourself, Sammy?" is Dean's response. It doesn't make a lot of sense at this exact moment, but Sam doesn't call him out on it because he understands what Dean's trying to say. 

He also supposes it probably has something to do with the fact that Kevin's strictly a bottom (these are his own words), and Sam is strictly _not._ Dean enjoys both sides of the spectrum, but sometimes he wants one more than the other. 

Still, though, those dead eyes are staring blankly ahead, and Sam isn't sure he can handle looking at them for much longer. So he does the obvious thing and asks Dean to roll over. 

And then he eats him out, because he's the world's best boyfriend. And really, how could he resist? Dean's never been very shy about voicing his pleasure (unless it comes out sounding too squeaky; then he'll blush and bury his face in Sam's shoulder or one of the pillows), and Sam always takes advantage of the opportunity. 

Dean arches his back into the touch as Sam's mouth travels down to lick at his hole. He starts out gentle, speeding up when he feels an encouraging hand threading into the long hair on the back of his head. This, he can handle. He falls into a steady rhythm and actually zones out a bit for several minutes, letting himself get lost in the familiar motion (both Dean and Kevin are very big fans of his tongue, and he finds himself in this position much more often than not). He keeps going long enough that his tongue starts to cramp up a little, but he doesn't stop just yet. 

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean mumbles, with a light tug to Sam's hair. He's clearly getting impatient, and Sam hopes he can't tell that he's stalling. He gets up onto his knees and grabs the lube, wasting more time by stretching Dean with his fingers. Dean allows it, but only for a moment or two. 

"'M ready," he slurs, reaching back to grab Sam's wrist. "Please, babe."

That word gets Sam's attention, worming its way into his heart and making him feel all warm and fuzzy. He has to smile; Dean never calls him that unless he's in a certain mood. He's only ever heard it from Dean once or twice, and it's enough to make him melt every single time. Suddenly, he's not so hesitant anymore. 

Despite his reluctance, he had been hard for a while now, because Dean is Dean, and his body doesn't seem to care about the details. He slicks himself up, but before he can push inside, Dean is grabbing him again. 

"Wanna see you," he says, as if that made any sense. 

"What?" Sam deadpans.

"You know what I mean," Dean huffs, sounding a little shy. 

Dean must have sensed his hesitance, because then he was trying to turn his head and Sam just couldn't look into his eyes again, he _couldn't-_

"Sammy." 

Sam can't respond. Doesn't know how to. 

"I need you." Dean's voice sounds so small; so shy. 

He takes a deep, calming breath, and then he mentally scolds himself for being such a selfish bastard. 

"Roll over," he concurs, pushing himself up enough so that Dean has room to do so. 

Immediately, Dean's clinging to him tightly. He buries his face in the side of Dean's neck and breathes in the scent of his body wash, which calms him very easily. He recognizes that smell instantly—it's the same one Dean's used his entire life, always grabbing the cheapest bottle he could find on the shelf. That smell is the same across every brand, in every store in every state in the country. It reminds Sam of when they were younger, of how Dean was always there for him no matter what. It reminds him of home. 

He can do this. 

He lines himself up. 

Once he pushes inside, he can’t remember what he was so worried about. There’s some minor shifting of limbs as the two men try to get into a sustainable position, and Sam has to bite his lip when Dean wraps his legs around his waist. He nuzzles into that familiar scent and rolls his hips in preparation. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” Dean chuckles. His hands find Sam’s hair, tugging firmly. 

“Is that how you want it?” Sam purrs into Dean’s ear. Dean’s grip tightens and he makes an affirmative noise. 

It’s a little game they play sometimes. Now that Dean’s made it clear what he wants, Sam switches gears inside his head and allows himself to be less careful. Not for the first time, he thinks about just how easy it is for him to do so, especially for Dean.

He gets a hand around Dean’s throat, just tight enough to hold him firmly in place without restricting his breath, and bites down on the flesh just beneath his jawline. Dean gasps and bucks his hips a little. Much like Sam’s obsession with getting his hair pulled, Dean will absolutely melt at the sting of teeth in the right places (both brothers have a bit of a thing for pain, if only in small amounts).

Sam gives a couple of shallow thrusts to get into the right rhythm. He maintains his hold on Dean’s throat to keep his head where he wants it, and marvels at the fact that Dean actually lets him. One wrong move right now could kill him, but he’s completely unbothered. If anything, he’s enjoying it. His trust in Sam is absolute. 

“Fuck me, Sam,” Dean mutters, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

He grins, willing himself to stop thinking so much, and pulls out almost all the way before sliding back in, slowly but forcefully. Then, he’s relentless. 

Before long, Dean’s breathing hard and his head is thrown back to expose even more of his neck to Sam. Sam, of course, can’t resist the temptation, and starts biting and sucking at the unmarked flesh. Dean tugs roughly on his hair in response, and it’s almost heavenly. He starts to loosen his grip on Dean’s throat to give him more room to breathe, but suddenly both hands are gone from his hair, clinging to his wrist instead. 

“Leave it,” Dean pants. Sam groans, mostly at the sound of Dean’s voice, and obeys. 

He vaguely wonders if Dean’s going to be upset (once he can see again) when he notices the many bruises on his neck. He concludes that it’s never been a problem before, so he bites down again. This earns him a whine, and one hand back in his hair. 

Dean’s grip is strong, almost desperate, like he’s afraid that Sam might let go. Sam realizes that he actually might be, so he tightens his grip reassuringly and nibbles at Dean’s earlobe. 

“I gotcha,” he whispers. Dean tries to turn his head to look at him, but he’s both unable to move and unable to see, so he gives up pretty quickly. Instead, he uses his words to communicate what that _look_ had always meant. 

“I love you.” 

It’s quiet, breathless, like Dean’s afraid of the words. Sam can see why; he doesn’t say it often, preferring to show it instead. Sam can’t help the feeling that washes over him, but he does his best not to react outwardly because he knows that Dean doesn’t want him to. 

“I love you too,” he responds, because he simply _has_ to, and then drops the subject by using his free hand to reach between them and start working Dean’s dick in time with the movement of his hips, which have now sped up. 

Dean groans, and suddenly he can’t quite hold still anymore. One of his legs moves a little higher up on Sam’s back, and Sam knows his toes are curling. He’s close; they both are. Sam takes a chance, moving his mouth away from Dean’s neck and leaning back a bit to look at his face. Thankfully, his eyes are closed. His gaze falls on Dean’s lips, which are parted slightly. He wants to kiss him, but neither of them can really breathe right now, so it probably wouldn’t work out too well. He settles for a quick one that ends up lingering for a moment or two, then moves back to Dean’s neck. 

“Fuck,” Dean gasps, both hands in Sam’s hair now as his hips move with the sensation. 

“Mmm,” is all Sam can say in response. Dean grins, though it fades quickly due to the overwhelming force of his orgasm washing over him. 

Sam lifts his head a bit to watch, maintaining his rhythm to the best of his ability. The look on Dean’s face sends another wave of pleasure through him, and his hips begin to falter. 

Dean clings to Sam like his life depends on it, making several loud noises that go straight to Sam’s dick. After several seconds, he lies there panting and shaking as Sam chases his own high. 

It doesn’t take long. A few more thrusts into that tight heat and he’s gone, trembling with the intensity of his release. He lets out a groan and Dean brushes his fingers through his hair as he scrambles to hold himself up. When the pleasure finally fades, he’s also panting. 

Dean unwraps his legs from around Sam’s waist to give him space to pull out, and when he collapses he throws himself to the side to avoid crushing Dean. 

“See, now was that really so bad?” Dean chuckles breathlessly, turning over to curl into Sam’s chest. 

“It’s never _bad_ ,” Sam argues, wrapping his arms around him. “I just wasn’t in the mood.” 

“I got you there pretty quick, though, didn’t I?” Dean insists. 

“That’s only ‘cause I wanted to shut you up,” Sam jokes. Dean grins, and they fall into a comfortable silence. 

* 

Dean isn’t sure how long they stayed there, but after a while, the drying cum on his stomach as well as the hunger pangs _in_ his stomach led him to say something. 

“Dude, I’m _starving_ ,” he practically whines. 

“You’re the one who decided sex was more important than breakfast,” Sam retorts, though he does start to get up. 

“It was worth it, though,” he mumbles. 

The bedsheets rustle loudly and Sam’s warmth is gone, indicating that he’s no longer in the bed. Dean stays quiet and listens for sounds of movement, hearing him rummaging through something (the nightstand? Maybe to put the lube away?) and then he’s back, gently reaching for Dean’s arm. 

“Come here,” he urges. 

He goes in the direction of Sam’s voice, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor when something touches his stomach. On instinct, he flinches. 

“It’s just a towel,” Sam says gently. Dean had already reached that conclusion on his own, but he appreciates the confirmation. He relaxes and allows Sam to wipe him down. 

“Did we leave our clothes in the shower room?” Dean thinks aloud. 

“Yep,” Sam confirms. 

Of course they did. They’d brought their towels, but they were both cold and damp, and one of them was now also dirty. They both decided it didn’t matter, and they remained unclothed as Sam led the way back to the shower room. 

Once they’d finally gotten dressed, Sam brought them into the kitchen for something to eat, but stopped abruptly somewhere near the door. 

“What?” Dean snapped. 

“Shhhh,” Sam replied. That was a bit alarming, and Dean’s first instinct was that something was wrong. 

“ _What_?” he tried again, whispering this time. 

“He’s asleep,” Sam gushed, also whispering. 

If Dean could see, he would have punched him. 

“Don’t scare me like that,” he scolded, though he kept his voice down. He heard Sam chuckle. 

“Stay here for a sec,” he whispered, grabbing one of Dean’s hands and bracing it against the doorframe. 

Sam’s hand was gone then, and Dean realized he could already smell food. Kevin must have made breakfast, and then he’d apparently fallen asleep somewhere in the kitchen. 

There was the sound of someone shifting and then the creaking of wood, which led Dean to believe that he was sitting at the table. He could hear Sam over by the stove. He leaned into the doorframe as he waited for Sam to come back. 

*

They ate in the library. Or, _Dean_ ate in the library. Sam led him over to a chair and placed a plate in front of him, then he sat somewhere across the table. 

“It’s bacon and eggs,” he muttered dismissively, sounding preoccupied with something else. “There’s a fork on your right.” 

Dean was almost offended by Sam’s behavior, but he heard the rustling of paper and the scratch of a pencil and figured he was back to work on finding that cure. 

As he struggled to figure out a decent method for putting his fork in his mouth, he heard Sam get up and start searching through one of the bookshelves. There was a thud every time he added another book to his pile. 

He gave up on the eggs for now and started on the bacon. At least he didn’t need a utensil for that. He still missed his mouth a couple times, and after a few long minutes Sam finally noticed. 

“Need any help?” he offered, still sounding like he’d rather do anything else. 

“I know how to eat,” Dean snapped, and then it was quiet again. 

*

Kevin must not have stayed asleep for very long, because Dean wasn’t even done with his food before he heard footsteps coming into the library. 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Sam says. 

“I got, like, forty minutes,” Kevin reasons, sounding like he’s right behind Dean. Dean puts his bacon down (with some effort) and reaches back, and Kevin grabs his hand. 

“You’re supposed to get eight _hours_ ,” Sam points out. 

“Baby steps,” Kevin replies, settling into the chair next to Dean’s. Then, he chuckles. “I see you two made up.” 

Dean was confused until Kevin slid a finger down his neck. He smiled when it stung a little. 

“Can you help me for a minute?” Sam interrupts politely, changing the subject. 

“What do you need?” Kevin answers, not getting up. 

“Do you remember what book you found this in?” Then there’s the sound of paper rustling.

“That one? I think it was in...” Kevin trails off, and then there’s the thumping of books as he shuffles through them. “Here,” he finishes, and there’s a final-sounding thud. 

“Thanks,” Sam mutters, and then it’s quiet aside from the sound of pages turning. 

Dean hears Kevin’s chair scrape across the floor, and then Kevin’s resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Do you need any help?” Kevin mutters into his ear, quietly so that Sam won’t hear it. 

Dean shakes his head. He grabs a slice of bacon and brings it to his mouth in an attempt to prove that he’s capable of doing it by himself. He’d mostly figured out how to stay aware of his hand’s location in relation to his head, and for the most part he’s fine now. It’s disorienting, but it’s better than having someone else feed him like he’s a child. 

It’s quiet again, and Dean can’t figure out whether Sam’s upset or not. He’d been weird and dismissive ever since they left the kitchen, but the only way to know for sure would be to look at his face (and he can’t do that, obviously). He doesn’t want to ask, either, because that would make him seem needy, which he is _not_. But he really can’t stand this silence anymore. 

He’s not hungry anymore, so he puts the remainder of his bacon back on the plate and wraps an arm around Kevin, hoping he’ll understand the message. 

Kevin, having lived with the Winchesters for the past several years, knows each of them almost as well as they know each other. So yes, he understands. And he immediately takes action. 

“I’m tired,” he mumbles to Dean, but it’s meant for Sam to hear. He buries his face in Dean’s chest to make it look more believable. 

“Let’s go take a nap, then,” Dean plays along with a fond smile. He puts a hand on the back of Kevin’s head and hugs him closer. 

“Mhm,” Kevin responds. “You’ll be okay?” he asks Sam, sitting up a bit to look at him. 

“Yeah,” Sam responds, still sounding uninterested. 

Kevin gets up, grabbing Dean’s plate for him. Dean stands as well, one hand on Kevin’s arm to follow him out of the room. They stop in the kitchen for a minute, where Kevin disposes of the uneaten food on Dean’s plate. It’s mostly just the eggs, as he’d eaten almost all of the bacon. Then he’s back, and they go to Dean’s room. 

“Is he upset?” Dean mumbles, as Kevin sits him down on the bed. 

“He’s stressed,” is Kevin’s answer. “You know how he gets about this kind of stuff. He’s hell-bent on finding a cure.” 

And that makes sense. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to dwell on it for too long.

Kevin joins him on the bed, and they lay together as if they’re actually going to take a nap. 

“What do you wanna do?” he says, and Dean has to take a moment to think about it. 

“What _can_ we do?” he asks. Most of his favorite things involve having vision. 

“I don’t know,” Kevin mutters. There’s a moment of silence before he adds, “we _could_ actually take a nap.” Dean grins. 

“Honestly, that sounds great,” he decides. It’s the middle of the afternoon (he’s pretty sure, at least), but he couldn’t care less about that right now. He’s warm and comfortable, and he wants an excuse to close his eyes. It’s frustrating to keep them open and still not be able to see anything. 

Kevin lifts his head off of Dean’s chest, and he’s quiet for a long moment.

“What?” Dean speaks up, unsure of what he’s doing. He has a sneaking suspicion, however, that Kevin might be staring at him. 

“Nothing,” Kevin responds. “It’s just… your eyes.” 

“What about ‘em?” 

“They’re all cloudy,” he says, like he’s fascinated. “It’s kinda cool.” 

Dean chuckles. “I didn’t think about that,” he mumbles. 

“It’s weird,” Kevin adds. “You can’t see _anything_?” 

“No. Just black.” 

“It almost looks like you’re looking at me.” 

“Well, I’m facing the direction of your voice, I guess, but I don’t see anything.” 

Kevin makes a thoughtful sound at that, and then he’s quiet for another minute. 

“You’re really pretty,” he whispers fondly. 

“I am _not_!” Dean argues, with a smile on his face. 

“Mm, yeah you are,” Kevin persists. “Even with those eyes.” 

“I think Sam thinks they’re creepy,” Dean chuckles. He recalls that moment in the shower room when Sam had acted strangely, and how Sam had kept him facing a different direction the entire time they were having sex. Suddenly, it all makes sense. 

“They’re a _little_ creepy,” Kevin agrees, “but it’s not that bad. I think they’re cool.” 

“Thanks, I think,” Dean responds, still chuckling. Kevin chuckles now, too, and leans down to kiss him. When he pulls away, he nuzzles his face against Dean’s like a kitten. 

“I really am tired,” he mutters. 

“Good. Me too,” Dean replies, finding Kevin’s face with one hand and rubbing a thumb over his cheek. 

“I love you,” Kevin mumbles sleepily. 

Normally, Dean wouldn’t respond, or he’d say something stupid like “I know,” and that’s probably what Kevin was expecting, but he's in a strange mood today. 

“I love you too.” 

Kevin lifts his head. He doesn’t say anything. Dean wishes he could see the look on his face. Is he confused? Is he smiling like an idiot? Is he starting to tear up? He quickly remembers the hand still on Kevin’s face, and he feels around for any clues. 

Yep, there’s that smile. He smiles back. 

Neither of them says anything else after that. Kevin curls up against Dean’s chest, and Dean rubs his back as they settle in for what he hopes will be a very refreshing nap. 

*

Dean wakes up several times. The first time is brief, and he barely even notices. The second time, it’s because Kevin had rolled over in his arms. And the third time, it’s because he felt the bed dip as someone crawled in behind him. His brain knows it’s Sam, even in his half-asleep, unseeing state. He always knows when it’s Sam. 

“What time is it?” he rasps, shifting a little. 

“Shh,” is Sam’s response. They get comfortable, and Dean falls asleep yet again. 

The fourth time, he’s sweaty and disoriented; not because he’d had a nightmare, but simply because he’s sandwiched between two people and he still has no idea what time it is. He’s not sure what to do now, because he’s pretty sure he’s the only one that’s awake. 

He tries to wiggle out of Sam’s grip, which results in him being hugged even tighter. Kevin’s shifted away from him—probably because it’s _hot_ in here—which gives him room to attempt to roll over. 

Sam’s a fairly light sleeper, and he stirs. He must have noticed the heat then, because he loosens his grip. 

“Y’okay?” he mumbles. 

“Yeah,” Dean replies. Then, again, because he can't really let it go, "What time is it?" 

Sam shifts, probably reaching for his phone. 

"3," he grumbles. 

"In the _morning_?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Sorry." 

"Need anything?" Sam says, ignoring the apology. Even though he's obviously exhausted, he sounds much nicer now that he doesn't have his nose buried in a book. 

"Bathroom," Dean replies. He hadn't noticed until now. 

Sam drags himself out of the bed, and Dean feels bad for waking him up. Sam doesn't complain, though, and he's very patient as he leads the way down the hall. When they finally get there, it's immediately awkward. 

"Do you need me to-...?" Sam prompts, a hand on his back. Dean blushes. 

"Get out," he snaps. He hears Sam chuckle before doing just that. 

Now that he's alone (mostly; Sam's right outside the door), he realizes what the problem is. 

"How do I-?" he mumbles. 

"I don't know," Sam answers earnestly. "Sit down?" 

He does, but he's not happy about it. 

Once that's over with, Sam takes him back to his room. Evidently, Kevin is awake now too. 

"Sam?" he mumbles. It sounds muffled, like his face is still buried in the pillows.

"Yeah," Sam confirms gently. They get back into bed, and Kevin's curling back into Dean and falling asleep again. It's still really hot, but he doesn't mind it very much anymore. 

* 

The final time Dean wakes up, he can't find Sam. Kevin's still there, and he may or may not be awake (this whole blindness thing is really starting to get on his nerves), but he doesn't want to check just in case he really is asleep. Kevin needs every second of shut-eye he can get, especially since the tablets. He settles for lying there in silence until something happens. 

That "something" ends up being Sam bursting through the door. 

"I found it," he announces, with absolutely no regard for anyone who might be sleeping. Kevin stirs in Dean’s arms, letting out a groan of annoyance. 

"It couldn't wait?" Kevin snaps. 

"Sorry," Sam recedes briefly, but then continues at the same volume. "We have everything we need for the cure. It's ready." 

That gets Dean's attention, and he sits up. "Right now?" 

"Right now," Sam confirms. 

"It's fine, I'm not trying to sleep or anything," Kevin grumbles sarcastically. 

“Sorry,” Sam says again. He comes over to the bed to get Dean, and they leave the room together, a very annoyed Kevin staying behind under the sheets. 

As it turns out, the cure is just some foreign words chanted over a bowl of weird stuff. Sam tells him to close his eyes, then wipes something cold over them. He hears the roar of a flame, and then when he opens his eyes again he's nearly re-blinded by a bright white light, everything in the room appearing to glow like it's on fire. Sam's right in front of him, watching him intently, and he has to close his eyes for another second. 

"How do you feel?" Sam urges, refusing to let go of his arm. 

It takes a minute for the glowy-ness to subside, but when he looks up at Sam and actually _sees_ him, he grins like an idiot. 

"I forgot how funny you look," he jests, causing Sam to breathe a sigh of relief and return his smile. He pulls him into a forceful hug that lingers for a long moment. 

"You're _sure_ you're okay?" he checks. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

The smile on Sam's face is so large that it almost makes him say the L-word again, but this time he settles for the _look._

*

Dean makes breakfast that morning to celebrate. Kevin comes into the kitchen while he and Sam are eating, and Dean instinctively turns his head to look at him.

He'd been right; Kevin _does_ look cute in Sam's shirt.

*

They find the witch two weeks later. Sam's the one that kills her, and he's so overjoyed that they end up crowded together in the backseat of the Impala, unable to keep their hands off of each other. Just in time, too; the hickeys on Dean's neck from their previous session had faded by then, but Sam gladly replaced them with fresh ones.

And when they got home, Kevin just laughed at how cute they both were.

**Author's Note:**

> Those "spells" are literally just random words and phrases translated into various languages via Google Translate, and the "cure" is 100% made-up. I promise I'm not secretly a witch. 
> 
> If you enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment because I worked really hard on this and it would make my day.


End file.
